Snippet #1504533

Another time, my love…

The words rang in her ears with all the attractiveness and melody of a symphony orchestra. The meaning of the words, for her ears alone, was not lost on the blonde mistress, and she reveled in them: envisioning that promised future moment in time when she and her lover would be standing over the mangled corpses of the pathetic descendants, their broken mother huddled in a corner somewhere. Defenseless. It would be then that the really unsavory bits would begin, as Sofia would be allowed to unleash her own venomous brand of torture on the self-proclaimed “Mother” until she was so utterly broken --mind, body, and soul-- that she could never again pose even the smallest threat to the Cruzzola and all they stood for.

The thought alone was enough to make Sofia’s body tingle with anticipation. That, coupled with the renewed attention of the father put Sofia in a much better mood.

Her flesh still burned with the heat of his lips, and her fingertips had been coaxed away from sharp objects. Sofia slid her injured hand down the Father’s arm as he walked away from her, turning his attention to other matters, but the touch was enough to intensify the ferocity in her demeanor almost instantly. On her own, she was a force to be reckoned with: as unpredictable as a hurricane and almost as deadly, but, joined with the Father, this highly evident quality was taken to a whole new level. Any trace of doubt or insecurity she may have felt in Nike’s presence had disappeared like ash in the wind. It was a thing of the past, not even worth remembering it have ever existed. She was the Father’s again, and everything was as it should be.

This phenomenon wasn’t surprising, for Sofia was the first to admit that the Father was her only hope for any semblance of meaning in her life. Who was she --who were any of them without him? After what he’d done to make them that way? They had to be beaten; to be broken, like a prized stallion, until the only voice they heard or command they followed was his. This was more true of Sofia than the rest. Some had given him their mind, blindly following his every command. Others gave their bodies as vehicles for the carrying out of his will. Still others gave both, but none of them had given their soul --the very fire that lit their being to him the way Sofia had. No one, not even the other’s who’d worn her shoes and filled his bed before her had been so molded to him. It was only natural that Sofia would find a special sort of power in him.

She looked back at Nike for the last time before leaving with a renewed sense of wonder. How could such a pathetically fragile woman hold so much power over her lover? It was astounding. How could she deserve to be his nemesis? Or even a blip in the back of his mind?

Sofia shrugged. It was of little consequence now, and Nike didn’t merit another thought on her part. She turned her back to her and followed the rest of the Cruzzola as they headed out. This meeting was finally over, and she could not help but feel a sense of relief that things which had been momentarily turned topsy-turvy were falling back into place. As she walked, her body moved with a renewed magnetism, and her eyes glimmered with sultry allure. She felt like herself again.

But one thing still puzzled her, namely, who that girl was, or, more accurately, who she was to Vincent. “I’m sure I would not know,” was his reply to her question. An unsurprising answer, considering the source, but still unsatisfying. Sofia could not help but watch the shaded eyes of her co-conspirator, looking for the truth behind his words or his demeanor, if indeed the words he spoke were not already the truth. It was not exactly that she cared, but her curiosity had been piqued. Something inside her wanted to know the answer to the interesting turn of events that had transpired when the girl, apparently called Katarina, had unceremoniously entered the room.

But, it seemed that she would have to let it go, for now. Perhaps all would be explained, and if not: well, Sofia had been known to amuse herself by pestering Vincent, from time to time.